Wei raised his hand. “You have my respect, David. But I have no patience for careful speech. Say what you came to say.”
Fang looked up and smiled. His face was pale in the dim light. “Direct as always, Wei. A courageous foe is better than a cowardly friend, as the saying goes. Very well, I’ll come to the point.”
Fang slid three tiles across the table and turned them to face up. They were all dragon tiles, and the digits in each corner formed the number 489.
Laiwai smiled and nodded. “I thought as much.”
In the hierarchy of the Triad gangs, each rank within the organization was assigned a code number. The complex system was designed to confuse outsiders. Over time, the various numbers and their meanings had acquired almost mythical significance. The number 489 was well known to both men. It referred to the most important position of all.
Dragon Father … the patron of the Triad. Ruler of all organized crime undertaken by the Lu Long, and the other organizations they controlled.
“I will be Dragon Father,” Fang said. “This is a fact. I have no wish to spill more blood if it can be avoided. But do not mistake my rationality for weakness. I will not fail in my destiny.”
Laiwai took a sip of his own wine, a darker vintage made from fermented red rice. It left a dark stain on his cracked lips. He quickly wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin, but the stain remained.
“The election will come soon enough,” he said. “We’ll see what destiny has in store for us then.”
Fang slammed his fist down on the table. The mahjong tiles bounced and tumbled across the felt surface from the impact. “I will hold the dragon rod in my hands. I will lead the Lu Long Triad into the future. No other outcome is possible. No action by you or any other man in this world can stop it.”
“This is crazy talk,” Laiwai said, his voice rising in intensity. “What do you want me to do? Remove my application? Step aside and allow you to rise above me? I have waited as long as you!”
“I am asking you to wait a bit longer, yes. But not forever. Stand by me. Work with me, as my deputy. You will be my number 438, a Triad Mountain Master. With my legitimate business interests, I can take the organization’s funds public. You’ll make more money under me than you ever would alone.”
Laiwai shook his head. “Listen to yourself, David. What would you say if I made you the same offer?”
“In three years’ time, I give you my word I will step down,” Fang continued. “I will throw the full weight of my organization behind your candidacy then. No one will be able to stand in your way. Your time will come.”
“I asked you to speak frankly,” Laiwai said, his voice low and calm. “So now I’ll do the same. The current Dragon Father favors me. He has thrown his support behind me, and the other families will vote accordingly. They don’t trust you, David. The Lu Long has thrived for years because it works in secrecy. It lives in the shadows, it is the Triad behind the other Triads. But your businesses are out in the open. Government contracts, regulations, lawsuits, news stories … you attract too much attention, David. You may be the future of the Lu Long, but they are not ready for things to change just yet.”
“I will make them see wisdom. Don’t fight me on this, Wei.”
The rotund man shook his large, round head. “Not my style. I don’t roll over for anyone, not friend or foe. And here’s another cold hard fact. You can’t afford it. Your money is tied up in your factories and business ventures, and the economy is not what it once was. You can’t liquidate fast enough to pay the tithe. And your … other expenses … have burned through your cash. The current Dragon Father knows this. That’s why he set the price so high.”
“I’ll have the money. My new factory—”
“What new factory?” Laiwai interrupted. “I happen to know the government denied your land sale, didn’t they? All because of this Global Environmental Accord … A foolish trade deal with the United States, I'll grant you. But your factories don't pass the new emissions standards, do they? Now, your investors' money is sitting in an off-shore escrow account. Without the land, you can’t touch a single yuan note in the account.”
Fang’s face was still as stone. For a moment, the two men stared at each other across the green felt table. They said nothing. The air between them seemed to crackle with electric tension.
Suddenly, the two golden doors crashed open. The men turned and gazed upon the view of the Shanghai Skyline, sparkling in all its vivid glory.
Spears of red, green, and purple thrust into the sky, surrounding the colorful orb of the Pearl Tower. The tower consisted of three bulbous spheres, separated by a support beams and pylons. The upper sphere changed colors, flashing from purple to bright red. Rings of dancing lights shimmered around the base of the tower.
But the spectacular view outside paled compared to the woman who stepped through the golden doorway. The host shut the doors behind her, blocking out all distractions.
She was tall for a Chinese woman, nearly two meters in her shimmering black heels. She wore a long, cheongsam dress, slit to the thigh. The traditional garment was cut from a rich blue embroidered silk. It flowed up her body and rose to a choker collar around her neck. The tight sleeve of shimmering fabric hugged her figure, accentuating every line and curve.
Fang stood up, but Laiwai remained seated. He peered up at the woman with an intense stare.
“There you are,” Fang said. “I’m sorry, we had Lewis play in your seat.”
“Yuanling wo,” she said. “Forgive me. My last appointment ran late. I hope I didn’t miss too much.”
“Not at all. I was just discussing your specialty with Mr. Laiwai here.”
He pushed in the woman’s chair as she lowered herself into Lewis’s former seat, then he sat next to her. “Wei Laiwai, allow me to introduce—”
“Iris Yip. I know of her. Everyone in the Lu Long knows about your I-Ching witch.”
Fang stiffened, but the woman placed a slim hand on his forearm. “It’s fine,” she said. “I’m sure Mr. Laiwai meant no offense.”
Laiwai sipped more of his dark red wine. His eyes shifted over her body with a cold, clammy leer. “I would think a woman who took up with the man that murdered her husband might be called much worse.”
Iris reached into the black clutch that sat on her lap. She withdrew a set of bamboo dowels. Each stick was long, narrow, and square-cut. A series of lines and dots decorated the four sides of each rod.
“Fate calls to us all, Mr. Laiwai,” she replied. Her voice was quiet, but deep and husky for a woman. “My late husband could not escape its song any more than Mr. Fang could. Nor can you or I, for that matter.”
The older man broke eye contact as she met his leer with her own inscrutable stare. Her eyes were set just far enough apart that it seemed difficult to look into both at the same time. Her sharp, wide cheekbones accentuated the effect.
Unlike most Chinese women, she did not appear to avoid the sun. Her skin was a dark, creamy tan. She wore her hair long and straight, and parted in the center. It was a simple style. Two long, dark slashes of black that framed her face and flowed down past her shoulders.
She rolled the sticks back and forth in her hand. The gentle clicking sound they made filled the air. She began to chant quiet, half-formed whispers. Her words seemed to drift just out of comprehension in the dim, cavernous room.
“Let’s make a wager,” Fang said, his lips curling into a smile. “Give me a chance to convince you. If I can change your mind, you will offer me a toast. If not, I will do the same for you.”
Iris ceased her chanting. The sticks were still and silent in her hands. She looked up, her wide, dark eyes shining in the reflected light like onyx flame.
“In divination, as in life,” she said, “answers come only to those who understand the nature of what they seek. The I-Ching is like mahjong. It is based on numbers. It is fate’s equation. It reveals the patterns of energy that lie beneath what men perceive as chaos. Touch the sticks,
and ask your question. For one who truly understands their desire, knowledge shall be granted.”
“Fine, fine. I’ll play along,” Laiwai grumbled. “But you best begin polishing your words, David. You’re going to owe me one hell of toast.”
Laiwai reached out with a gnarled, stubby hand and caressed Iris’s slim, tan fingers. “Will I win the election and become Dragon Father of the Lu Long?” he asked in a booming, melodramatic voice.
Iris cocked her head, but her eyes did not shift from Laiwai’s gaze. “No. That is not right,” she said. “The question must be … more personal to you. You must understand what lies at the core of your desire.”
“What are you talking about?” Laiwai asked, sipping his wine. “Why so specific? Are you a witch or a lawyer?”
“Dragon Father is but a title, and a title is but words,” she said. “Words are constructions of men. But behind these words is a number. 489. This number signifies strong energy. Great power. That is truly what you seek, yes?”
“Of course,” Laiwai nodded. “What else is there?”
Iris counted six sticks from the pile and set them onto the felt table. She closed her eyes and shuffled them over each other, rolling them back and forth. “What is the likely outcome of Mr. Laiwai’s desire for power?” she said in her low, husky voice. Her eyes fluttered open.
The patterns on the sticks lined up to form two hexagrams, each one a set of six horizontal lines. Some of the lines were solid, while others broke into two dashes. Iris ran her fingers over the engraved ridges of the lines.
“On the left, a solid line above five broken. The Still Mountain above Receptive Earth. A house with a shattered roof must soon collapse. In such times of adversity, the superior man knows it is not cowardice, but wisdom, to submit and avoid conflict.”
Her finger drifted right, over a small red dot that stood between the two hexagrams.
“A change line … action on your part may alter the patterns of energy. On the right, the likely result of such a change.”
Laiwai leaned back in his chair. “What kind of change?”
Her fingers brushed over the patterns as she looked up at Laiwai’s round face.
“The hexagrams shift. They become Still Mountain over Arousing Fire. The leg of your bed is split. This signifies a severe threat to one’s well-being. There is no protection here. Those who forge ahead … will be destroyed.”
Laiwai shook his head and downed the rest of his red wine. “Luckily for me, I don’t believe in fortune tellers, Miss Yip.” He stood up and tossed a coin on the table. “Here … a tip for a fine performance. David, I’ll see you in Hong Kong. The election will decide our fates. If you want me to stand aside, you’ll need more than a pile of sticks and a pretty face. You’ll need an army.”
Fang stood up as Iris collected her I-Ching sticks and placed them back in her bag. “You’re not convinced?” he called after Laiwai. “Then I owe you a toast, old friend.”
“Save your breath,” the man said as he threw open the doors. “You can toast my victory when I am crowned Dragon Father. But don’t worry. Your time will come.”
Laiwai stepped out into the unfinished lobby. He paused. He sensed something was wrong before he could even process the grisly details of the sight before him.
His eyes were drawn up to the ceiling. Hanging from one of the support beams that crossed overhead were four bodies. Laiwai gasped as he recognized the pale, battered face of his bodyguard. The corpses swayed in the breeze that swept through the open construction. Below, the Shanghai lights continued to twinkle through the hazy air.
Each body hung from the end of a silk cord that looped around their necks like a noose. Their heads lolled forward; their mouths gaped open. Their wide eyes were unblinking and still.
Looking up at their bloated faces, he recognized the other bodies as members of his gang. Someone must have rounded them up, he realized, as he and Fang had played their game of mahjong.
Lewis stepped out from behind one of the massive golden doors. With a vicious snarl, he kicked Laiwai. The man stumbled forward and fell into the center of the room. He landed beneath the swaying corpses.
Twin elevators chimed from across the unfinished room. The doors slid open, and a man stepped out. His footsteps echoed across the rough concrete floor as he walked towards Laiwai.
He was slim, of average height. Although he was Chinese, his skin was stark white, and his eyes were a pale, pinkish red. His hair was a fierce tuft of blonde, perfectly coifed and styled above the strange, albino face. He was dressed in a tailored black suit.
As he marched forward, Laiwai saw more men filing in behind him from the elevators. Within seconds, about a dozen filled the room. They were all young, in their twenties, and wearing street clothes. Laiwai had seen enough Blue Lanterns in his time to recognize these men as foot soldiers. Their torn sleeves and open shirts revealed an intricate tapestry of Triad tattoos … dragons, koi, and numbers that represented good fortune. The wind whipped through their clothes and hair as they stared down at him.
The color drained from Laiwai’s face as he realized they were all wielding swords and knives.
The albino stood over him. He clasped a short, curved sword with an ornate hilt in his right hand. The man smiled and raised the blade into the air. Laiwai blinked as he noticed a strange detail … only eight fingers wrapped around the hilt of the sword. Each of the man’s stark white hands had only three fingers and a thumb. Four … si … a number associated with death.
The albino’s smile widened. He swung the sword down.
“Stop!” Fang’s voice cut through the air, and the throng of men ceased all chatter. The albino halted his killing blow. Fang strode into the room, with Iris following a few steps behind.
Laiwai scuttled away from the albino and turned to face Fang. “Are you crazy? What are you doing? This is forbidden!”
“You did say I would need an army,” Fang replied. “The blades these men wield are known as Dai Dao. They’re a favorite of the Vietnamese drug cartels that have been causing so much trouble on the border lately. Tonight, witnesses I have paid will say they saw a gang of Vietnamese men enter one of your warehouses. A shipment of their methamphetamine was stolen. It will be located at your building. The Dragon Father will accept the police report. He may favor you, but he will not go to war against me without more proof.”
He snapped his fingers, and Lewis handed him a fresh glass of mijiu wine. He took a sip, then kneeled down before the panting figure of Wei Laiwai.
“I still owe you a toast. I gave you a chance, old friend. I allowed Iris to show you the hand of fate. I would have accepted a different result. I believe in destiny, in the I-Ching. But your reading confirmed what I already know. You could have risen with me. Now, you must fall before me.”
Fang took a long drink of his wine, then spit it in Laiwai’s panicked face.
“Fate leads those who are willing, but must push those who are not.”
He stood up and watched as Laiwai scrambled to his knees. “David, don’t do this … you win, I will withdraw. I withdraw!”
Iris slinked over to Fang and draped her arm around his shoulder. Her long, dark hair trailed behind her in the breeze. The lights from the Pearl Tower cast an eerie red glow across her face. “Fate is calling, Mr. Laiwai,” she cooed. “Your time has come.”
Fang nodded. The albino raised his sword.
The blade sliced down. This time, nothing halted its descent. A spray of crimson spattered through the air. Laiwai collapsed to the ground.
The albino surveyed his handwork, then removed a white handkerchief from his pocket. He wiped his blade clean on the cloth.
Lewis hurried over to Fang. “You should go, sir. We will move the body after …"
Fang gripped Lewis’s shoulder. “Clean this up when they’re done. And call me when you've dealt with the American.”
Lewis nodded. Fang took Iris’s hand and led her to the exit.
Behind h
im, the pack of men descended on the corpse of Laiwai. They hacked and cleaved at the body like a pack of wild dogs. Within minutes, the concrete floor surrounding them was awash in blood. The color was the same as the lips of Laiwai’s corpse, stained red by the remnants of his sweet, dark wine.
Chapter Fifteen
Caine winced as the old white van bounced over a pothole in the crumbling city streets. He was lying in the back, under a filthy moving blanket that stank of sweat and old food. Every bounce and shudder of the van’s suspension rattled through his bones. The impacts sent tremors of aching pain through his body.
He lifted a corner of the blanket. Even in the dim light of early morning he had to squint his eyes. After a second or two, they adjusted to the harsh glow outside the windows of the battered van. He prodded the flimsy upholstery of the driver’s seat with the barrel of a Chinese Number 5 revolver. He felt Mole Face shift in the seat as he guided the van around a corner.
“Tell him to take it easy,” Caine muttered in a low voice.
Jia sat in the passenger seat. She angled her body to put as much distance between herself and the driver as possible. Her eyes darted between Caine's face and the gun in his hands. She gave him a pensive frown, then turned to the driver.
“Jiansu,” she snapped in a harsh voice. “Slow down.”
“Hao ba, hao ba,” the driver muttered back. Mole Face glanced back at Caine, then returned his eyes to the road. For that brief second, Caine saw a familiar expression in the man’s face.
Fear.
Good, he thought. That means he still wants to get out of this alive.
Caine knew it was the people who had given up hope, who no longer cared if they lived or died, who were the most dangerous. Men like that had a different look in their eyes. Not fear, but a hollow, empty gaze. He had seen that look many times staring back at him in the mirror.
Thomas Caine series Boxset Page 40